


stitched with its color

by heylifeitsemily



Series: do android detectives dream of electric sheep? [5]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, F/M, Holding Hands, Pining, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 19:53:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21258740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heylifeitsemily/pseuds/heylifeitsemily
Summary: “What are we drinking to?”She looks at him then,seeshim, maybe for the first time all night.“Luck,” she says, after too long a pause. “Luck for a spectacularly shitty venture.”





	stitched with its color

Velma’s only had water tonight, which somehow makes the nostalgic expression she wears all the more painful to look at. She taps her fingers on the countertop in time with Magnolia’s drummer as the night unfolds before them. Last minute stragglers are greeted with rumbles of surprise from their less-sober friends, time speeding up for them as the alcohol starts to flow, slowing down for her as she catches snippets of each slurred conversation.

She looks like a woman out of time in more ways than one. Loose pieces of hair fall gentle to her sun-burnt shoulders, the soft lines of her dress wrinkled but still in a better state than any other couture the Commonwealth has to offer. She yearns for something in that steady gaze, something so foreign that even the camaraderie of the Third Rail only comes as a distant echo. Nick wonders what she sees in the shine of Magnolia’s dress, the grins spread across people’s faces. Is it the bars and galas of old?

He stands, bending over at the waist to offer her a hand, hoping she’ll ignore the grinding of gears. “May I have this dance?”

She smiles at him, and even though it pulls at her freckles and the corners of her eyes just so, it doesn’t quite fit. “Not tonight, Nick.”

He nods. “’Course.” Then, before he can think better of it, “How about swaying?”

The smile gets an inch closer to the real thing, but still lands a little to the left. “I’m actually thinking about calling it a night. Stay a little longer if you like, take in the scenery.”

They both know Nick has no intention of sitting at the bar when her head’s this far into the stratosphere. She tosses some caps down on the counter and slides her jacket back on, and with one last glance at the crowd, they set out into the night.

The walk back to the hotel is uncharacteristically quiet, the whole town seemingly having turned in for the evening. What should be eerie feels peaceful. In the silence he can pick up the sound of her toying with the zipper on her coat, still too big on her shoulders. There’s something familiar in the oversized leather jacket over a green dress, a moonlight stroll through town.

He’s misread the situation already tonight, so he stops himself from offering her his arm. She fiddles with the zipper until she needs to unlock the door to their room, and from there they go through the motions.

He’s settled in the armchair by the window, looking out over empty streets when he hears the clink of a glass. Velma stands splattered with moonlight in a flannel shirt and tattered pants, and pours herself a finger of whiskey before walking over to lean against the windowsill. The open bottle hangs loosely in her other hand.

She raises the drink to him, and Nick mimes toasting with her. She finishes it in one long sip, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. She's half-way into pouring another when he pipes up.

“What are we drinking to?”

She looks at him then, _sees_ him, maybe for the first time all night. She places the glass and bottle down beside her before wrapping her arms around herself. The cuffs of her shirtsleeves are unbuttoned, one scrunched up around her elbow and the other hanging open at her wrist.

“Luck,” she says, after too long a pause. “Luck for a spectacularly shitty venture.”

“Well, I’ll be following you wherever the trail takes us. You just point the way.”

She shakes her head, her mouth twisting into a frown. “You’re too good to me, you know.”

_I could think of a couple ways to be better. _“Says the woman who nearly broke a rib trying to save my sorry ass a beating.”

Her hair’s a little mussed now, the pins that we’re holding it up discarded on the bedside table. She shrugs. “You’d have done the same.”

“Yeah.” He nods, peering up at her from under the brim of his hat. “I would.”

He can see the neon of his eyes reflected back at him as she takes him in. He’s plenty used to passers-by dissecting him with their stare, but this is different – not scrutinizing, not searching, but like she’s looking at him just for the sake of it. He’s acutely aware of the stains on his tie and the exposed wire at the curve of his neck, but most of all that bright yellow ring glaring back at him and the honeyed brown beneath it.

“I’m going to infiltrate the Institute,” she blurts out. 

He shoots up in his chair quick enough to send his servos into a buzz, but he doesn’t get the chance to speak before she starts rambling.

“Railroad’s working out the logistics, Deacon’s running point. We’ve figured out the frequency the coursers use to get in and out of the ‘Wealth, and once Tom’s got a prototype ready, I’m heading in, I’m finding Shaun, and then,” she lets out a deep breath. “Then I’m taking them down.”

Her jaw is held tight as he lights up, the smoke pooling between them until the draft from the window clears it out. It’s a small miracle that his tone stays measured when he speaks.

“What’s to say that they won’t blow your head off the moment you step foot in there?”

“I’ve never let that stop me before,” she says. Neither of them smile.

“If you’re asking for my blessing, you’re shit out of luck.” He takes another drag, both of them watching the tremble in his hand, not from faulty hardware nor programming but something they've never managed to say.

“I wanted you to hear it from me.”

Velma reaches out to grab his metal hand and gives it a squeeze. His sensors flare without the skin weave to dampen them; he registers the smell of a campfire and oil off her shirt, the tang of salt in her clammy palms. 

“You’re hellbent on going in alone?”

She nods, brow furrowing. “I won’t ask anyone else to take this kind of risk.”

He presses his cigarette into the nearby ash tray and let his hand rest on the arm of his chair. Safer than reaching out to hold her other one. “And if I’m volunteering?"

She ducks her head. They’ve had this conversation before, in simpler times, in a million ways. She takes a deep breath, and when she manages to look at him again, he knows there’s no compromise to be found.

“I’m betting everything on Shaun being on the other side of that teleporter. If my welcome party isn’t friendly, then,” she trails off, squeezing his hand again. “Then I need to know you’ll be here to pick up the pieces of whatever I leave behind.”

She means the fledgling Minutemen and keeping Maccready on the straight and narrow. She means tending to the garden she’s set up in Sanctuary Hills and taking Hancock out to a settlement just to get him off his ass. She means investigating whatever Piper sets her sights on and chipping away at another one of several personas Deacon’s blanketed himself with.

Nick’s going to have a hard time fitting any of that in when he’s too busy putting himself back together.

He blinks to find her knelt in front of him, up on her knees so that they’re almost at eye level. She looks up at him, the most frustrating person he knows, too stubborn to talk down from the ledge even with the vipers writhing below, too self-righteous to sit on the sidelines, too ready to throw her life away for someone else’s poor decisions. Riling him up comes easy to her, teasing and taunting.

But what she’s got a real knack for is winding people down. Her hand comes up to cradle his cheek, fingertips just brushing the exposed bolts. He leans into it, his good hand coming to wrap around her wrist. His thumb rubs little circles over her pulse point, and just like that the wind’s gone from his sails, and the only thing left is the warmth of her hands and the creeping sense of dread.

Velma’s his partner, but more than that, she’s his friend. His best friend. Stubborn as a mule and never one to back down from a hard conversation, working herself to the bone and too proud to ask for a helping hand. There’s nobody else in this world he holds in such high esteem, nobody else as deserving of a quiet life in the wastes, free of harm and strife and ignorant of all the injustice in the world.

But that’s never been who she is. Nick knew that from the moment she walked into that vault, terrified, miles out of her depth, and fussing over his scrapes and bruises anyhow. Not a day goes by that she isn’t out in the thick of it, no matter how it grates on her. It’s a hard way to live.

But Velma chooses it anyway, and that’s why he’s in love with her.

“You’ll be careful,” Nick murmurs. 

“I will," and she says it with so much conviction that he’d be hard pressed not to believe her.

_You springing me from that vault was the luckiest day of my life - _ _Don't think I'll ever be able to thank you enough for all the good you’ve done - _ _Keep looking at me like that and I'm sure to start blowing off steam from somewhere - _ _You know that I'm crazy about you, right - Don't_ _ do this - _

Nick smiles.“Suppose I can’t ask for much more than that.”

**Author's Note:**

> it's 'loving Nick Valentine instead of working on a presentation' hours again and at this point I think it would kill me to write something emotionally satisfying. i really thought they were gonna kiss in this one but no, apparently not
> 
> title taken from W. S. Merwin's "Separation", which I'm going to post all of here because it's short  
"Your absence has gone through me  
Like thread through a needle.  
Everything I do is stitched with its color."


End file.
